


Anointed

by Sans Seraph (themothandthestars)



Series: Manna From Heaven [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/M, M/M, Other, and they may or may not be drugged into submission, in the sense that none of the humans are really in a position of full consent, slight dub-con, though Gabe does his best to fix things
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-25
Updated: 2016-08-25
Packaged: 2018-08-10 19:26:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,717
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7858063
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/themothandthestars/pseuds/Sans%20Seraph
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which the Gods must be appeased.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Anointed

**Author's Note:**

> This started out as pure aesthetic porn, and tried it's damnedest to turn into pure porn, period. Unfortunately, work and my own headspace isn't allowing me to get the fun parts written in a timely way, so stay tuned for the smut, I guess? 
> 
> Much love and many thanks to the wonderful [ambersagen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ambersagen) and [XX_InfinityWriter_XX](http://archiveofourown.org/users/XX_InfinityWriter_XX/pseuds/XX_InfinityWriter_XX) who helped me turn my keyboard smashing into something readable. ❤

Honey.

The dark and viscous not-quite-liquid is ever so slightly cool where it was drooled over flushed skin with delicately carved scepters of ivory. The priest in their stiff robes and broad collars of gold and gems touched the dripping wand to the pulse points of his sacrifices-throat and wrists, thighs and shoulders-while the light of beeswax candles shattered in the mess. Light and shadow played childrens’ games on the whitewashed adobe walls. Darkness whispered secrets to the ceiling. Somewhere out there, beyond the soaring spires and pylons of the temple, bonfires flamed and roared at the moon like dragons, but here everything was quiet and dim. 

The priests’ censers lent a bitter-sweet and spicy taste to every breath and made his thoughts thick and sluggish like the sweet syrup on his skin. The combined scents of ambergris and incense, hot bodies and melting candles was cloying and heavy. As if his stomach weren’t already rolling.

Sticky sweat ran in rivulets and runnels over naked skin, only to meet their ends against his borrowed finery. The air was hot and palpably close. He knew better than to complain, of course. He wouldn’t say a word. It would only ruin the magic and scatter it to the four winds.

There was a glossy broken wing stuck in the dripping mark on his wrist. Poor little thing had only wanted to protect her sisters. He could get behind that.

Massive drums echoed from somewhere beyond the temple’s main chamber, felt in the chest more than heard with the ear. A horn sounded like a bull’s bellow, blasting long and loud over the open steppes surrounding the city. The midsummer feast was announced with the sounds of rolling thunder. 

Dean was lucky. He _knew_ he was. The Summer Gods were so easy to please. _Gabriel_ was easy to please. He was a temperamental bastard, yeah, but really, They all were. The Winter Gods expected perfection in everything. Gabriel and Raphael just wanted something silent and tractable. Hell, Raphael didn’t really give a shit about anything so long as she wasn’t bothered. Gabriel, though? He wanted sweet smiling things to decorate His arm and His bed. Of course, the honey and jewelry were still His fault. And honestly, it still felt like he was getting off easy.

The world was unforgiving; full of monsters and magic. It was no place for men. Without the Gods’ continued good will, they wouldn’t survive. It was just unfortunate They were disinclined to mercy of any sort, but that was the way of things.

The Gods, Summer and Winter both, demanded Their tithes. The best and most perfect of every harvest-from field, farm, and forest, right down to babes in their cradles-in payment for their kindness. Every corner of the known world obeyed. It was the only way to survive.

Twice a year, the priests in their golden collars and long red robes took Their share of the crops, of the livestock, and the little babies, and twice a year the Gods feted and feasted. It was an endless cycle of replacing those who’d reached the perfect mixture of youth and schooling. 

_God Touched_ , they called them. Chosen and marked from their very first moments by the Gods' own hands, cloistered away in the temples to be trained in the arts of conversation, art, and love. The priests insisted it wasn’t their bodies that were important, that was simply the vessel for their true worth. It was their _potential_ that They fed on as if it were meat and bread and strong wine. Every word and every gesture and every decision made took a little bit of that and made it reality. Potential had power, but reality was unchanging and useless.

Somewhere in the east, pretty, sun bronzed boys from the coast and girls with eyes like open water were presented to the Stormcrow, but here in the grasslands that flirted with the endless desert, they wore Gabriel’s colors-amber, ivory, and gilt-in their very skin and hair. 

So when a vaquero’s best mare dropped an odd, ivory colored foal with bright serpentine eyes and fair, freckled skin in a herd that tended toward dust and clay colors, the beast was marked. And when a foreign soldier’s son proves too pretty for his own good-well, at least no one can blame the woman when the boy looks nothing like his sire. Colt and child were taken from their homes in the hinterlands and raised together, the pair growing tall and golden like wheat in the sun. Hidden away in the Sunhawk’s Temple, they were sheltered from the wind and weather and tended by the careful hands of the devoted til they reach their majority. 

Since the others had arrived some days ago, they’d been fed nothing but milk and honey. Four pale, soft stomachs had grown round and tight like the little drums the temple maidens used. Dean had never tasted anything so shockingly sweet as honey from the temple hives. It was flowers and citrus and freshly mowed lucerne on the tip of his tongue. He just wished he had some of the Matron’s coarse brown bread or a bit of fish. Cheese. Anything that wasn’t fucking honey. He could probably piss it by this point.

But of course fucking not. In the days before the feast, they weren’t allowed to eat anything that took a life. Even the temple cats had been put on a strict diet. And now, it was nothing but honey to sweeten their thoughts and tongues for the Gods.

_Shit_. He wanted _meat_ , damn it! Was practically drooling at just the thought of it. But the sun had risen just so over a certain obelisk a fortnight ago, and the priestesses who Knew Things said it was time. Out came the gleaming bolts of cloth, fine leather, rare metals, and precious stones from every corner of the map.

They’d told him he would have to be prepared to meet the Gods before the feast, but he hadn’t understood. Not really, not at first. The colors were the same, but Dean’s decorations were distinctly more permanent.

He’d seen the trappings made for the colt, and couldn’t help but think it had the better deal, even if the poor thing could hardly walk. There were metallic baubles and amber stones dripping down its face and hanging from the thick veil of it’s fishing-net braids. Cloth of gold and gauzey silks draped flank and pole and shoulder like a bride’s gown, dragging behind the beast’s careful steps. The saddle was nothing more than a thick shapeless rug of woolly lambskin draped over the horse’s broad, dune colored back. It was better than nothing, he supposed.

Like a some pretty painted dancer, kohl is smudged under his eyes and in his lashes and madder stained lanolin glosses his lips. Rust red lines of hinna crawled around each wrist and ankle, forming sigils and signs no man was ever meant to understand that will melt away in time. It was the heavy rings and bars of palest golden electrum that wouldn’t be disappearing anytime soon. Bars and studs and hoops all decorated with tiny emeralds, peridots, and citrines pierced his most sensitive skin. 

Beads of glass and enamel, porcelain and metal hung in ropes from his neck and wrists, wound around his hips to form a heavy belt in a rainbow of greens and golds. Tiny bells tinkle and chime from the linen cord holding his long hair back. A golden Sunhawk stretches gemstone wings across his chest, while filigree bands inscribed with feathers and flowers bind his wrists and forearm like manacles. 

Dean was sure his clattering and clinking could be heard halfway to the Gods’ own grand palace in the sky.

The chains alone must have been worth a fortune-electrum and silver, rose gold and a strange, near black metal like nothing he’d ever seen-but they were fragile things. The metals were too thin and too soft to be of any real use. The sheer, delicately embroidered fabric swathing his hips was probably stronger. 

They were prisoners, yes, but held more by silken scarves and their own volition.

With the start of the drums, the priests had hoisted their charges across the backs of their mounts, as silent and efficient as ever. He had to scramble for purchase on the horse’s mane, his bound hands awkward and near-useless. Every piercing between his legs throbbed dully in spite of the heavy nap of the lambskin. His already pale face went white.

To his left, a woman with long, golden blonde hair arranged artfully with braids and strings of glass beads sat, her round, open face no less blanched than Dean after the rough treatment, on her own bone white and hound lean mount. Like his own, the crisp cotton of her skirt and breast wrap was more bare skin than not. Through it, he could see the glint of topaz and aquamarine, tourmaline and umber diamonds on flushed skin. The mature swell of the desert woman’s hips, the mare, the hinna tracks across her skin, even the rainbow of blue and brown baubles, they all made it perfectly clear she was to be his partner. Not identical, of course, but they were clearly came as a set.

Behind them, a northern barbarian with blue marks and hair like a summer sunset sat on a flighty, proud mare, her ginger colored tail like a banner while she fretted in the dust. They're both striking creatures, heads held high and proud and decked out in vibrant stones that glow against slim young bodies. The bizarre lavender-black metal is so glossy it looks molten; violently pink tourmaline, garnet, and amethyst look like bits of ember and stardust caught in a waterfall of hair. 

The boy beside her, though, was strange and terrified and wrong: wide eyed, wiry and strong where he should be soft and youthful, dirty blonde instead of copper haired. The coffee brown horse was a muscular stallion, like Dean’s own, if on the short side. Bits of gold peeped through the dark brown of it’s coat here and there, as if strong sunlight had bleached the color away. A white-blonde mane and tail matched the white of it’s face and legs. They’re a discordant note, at odds with the others and wearing the wrong colors. The boy’s decorations are glossy black stones that shine with all the colors of the rainbow. 

There’s no turning back, not now and not for one weirdling boy. They’re standing at the mouth of the temple. They’re a procession that no one will see. Not with everyone out enjoying their own Midsummer Night. Dean couldn’t help but wonder what the others thought as they move through the city, quite as a whisper. He wasn’t afraid, he was born for this. 

He could tell when they’d left the city proper even before the tall grasses tickled his toes; the bright sound of shod hooves on stone turned to a hollow thub-thub that mirrored the erratic staccato in his chest. Cicadas and Night Jars are their chorus as they wind their way though low, scrubby trees and tall weeds. Torches carried by the holy men send sparks into the night sky, blotting out all but the brightest stars. 

They reach the altar with the fat full moon high in the sky. 

Huge marble wings curve over the table, the feathers carved by masterful hands. Their chains are attached to heavy metal hoops at the apex, and drawn up short by the graceful arcs til they’re forced to stand on their toes or risk bloodying themselves. They’re bound like daisy petals around a stony center. 

The low table itself is too thick with offerings to see, but he’s sure it too is carved: hawks and hounds and honeybees and all the things Gabriel loved. At it’s open center was a pillow-heaped dais for the God Himself.

Plush fur and silk cushions in all the colors of the sun are heaped everywhere, blossoms and herbs scattered underfoot. Huge platters of fruit and cheese, jars of cinnamon and pink salt and dozens of other spices, even the round-bottomed jars of wine from across the sea were lain out to tempt the God into another season of benevolence. It’s decadent. It’s luxurious. 

It’s fucking grotesque.

The sound of a dozen wings churning the air was louder than he’d ever imagined. There’s no attempt to be quiet or calm, a flurry of flower petals sent into the air, forming tiny, brilliant dust devils in the night-dark room.The northerner sloe dark eyes were glassy and her expression dazed. The boy, by contrast, looked half feral-his chest heaving, muscles corded and wild hair falling in his eyes as he fought his bindings. The silvery links stretched, but held firm.

The Sunhawk himself appears in the space between heartbeats. He seemed so radiant it was impossible to look anywhere else, a celestial being with aureole and feathers made from sunbeams and saffron. He flushed skin and seared vision. His wings went two-by-two-by-two the sleek gold feathers chased in lapis and trimmed with sapphire eyes.

“Well, hello Kitten.” He ghosted his fingers over the blonde woman’s naked thigh, making her shiver, though whether it was in delight or disgust was anybody’s guess. 

“And aren’t you a pretty one?” There was something distinctly vulpine about Him, something predatory in his movements as He came to Dean’s side. Something sly and sharp and dangerous staring him down, in spite of the flowers twined through His hair, the petals that littered his shoulders and feathers. Dean stared back.

The hand on his jaw was hot, inhumanly hot, but light as a dust mote. A sharp tug had Dean tumbling down, an armful of sticky, bewildered human for the God to enjoy. This-this wasn’t how things were supposed to go. The chest under Dean’s chin is nothing like he’d expected, a little too soft, a little too round and decidedly smaller than he’d imagined. Impossibly warm fingertips trailed over the big vein in his throat, across the blue falcon wings of his necklace and down his bare shoulder, smearing the honey. Gabriel stuck the sticky finger in his mouth, narrow, sleepy eyes rolling closed as if in bliss.

“ _Gorgeous_.” 

All that bare skin smelled of clean bodies, sweet bread in the oven, brewing tea and those yellow-red flowers Mom had loved. It cut through the clouds and cobwebs in his head like the first breath on a winter morning. It was home and safety and peace and welcome in the form of a grinning, peacock-winged God. Ornately embroidered cloth hung loose around the God’s narrow hips was beyond body warm and so brilliantly white it glowed.

“Too bad about the other two, eh? We could have all had some real fun, but they’re not even old enough to grow hair.” His voice soft, He clucked his tongue and waggled his eyebrows as if inviting Dean to join in the joke before smacking his ass soundly, as if _Dean_ were the flashy, spirited stallion instead of the beast he'd rode on. He doesn’t bother to hide his scowl, and gets a smug little grin and wink for his troubles.

“ ** _Balthazar. Anael._** Come lend a hand.” He turned away, His voice echoed bizarrely, powerful and impossible to ignore, but before Dean had half a chance to wonder at it, a pair of minor Gods appeared at Gabriel’s side. Their small, single pair of wings were patterned in sunshine hues, proving them to be as much Gabriel’s creatures as the humans.

“Something wrong, Dear Brother? Trouble rising to the occasion? Or did you forget the oils again?” 

“Nah, you know me, I’m up for anything. But _she_ likes the ladies, and _that one_ already belongs to Micha. Besides, they're both a bit young for my tastes. Do me a favor and take ‘em home, hum? Clean ‘em up, feed ‘em, and let ‘em sleep off the poppy smoke. And somebody remind me to deal with whoever thought this was a good idea whenever I manage to find my feet again.” 

“Ana? Keep an eye on that one.” He gestured to the northern girl, speaking with the casual carelessness of someone used to being obeyed. “She’s gonna be a real wildcat when she's done burning the midnight oil.”

One by one the chains binding their wrists disappear. The manacles vanish. They’re left standing in nothing more than obscene piles of jewelry and silken scarves, as if some great lord or lady had dumped the contents of their cedar chest.

“Don’t worry so much, Red. I can hear you panicking clear over here; it’s enough to give a guy a complex. Your family is fine. _Everyone_ is fine.” Gabriel was a smug, irritating bastard, but for a moment He softened a bit around the edges, as Anael and Balthazar coaxed and cajoled the younger sacrifices into-not submission, exactly, but something adjacent to it, as they vacillated between scowls, confusion and good old fashioned wide-eyed fear. 

“Huh.” His bindings the last to go, Gabriel paused to look from the wild boy to Dean and back again. “And maybe a little more than just fine. Well, problem for another day.” 

“G’on. _Shoo_! The grown-ups have work to do.” He flicked his hands, the godlings disappear with a huff and an eye roll, having taken most of the offerings along with them, including the feral boy and ginger haired girl and the small menagerie. Gabriel returned his attention to Dean and the desert bred woman where they were huddled together, unsure now with the rule book thrown out the window. 

“Well, c’mon you two. How about we start with the fine print and work our way up to the good stuff, what’d’ya say?” Gabriel plucked something from the table seemingly at random, and flopped across one of the overstuffed cushions not unlike a particularly large bag of rice. The ban on speech clearly only applied to the humans-the God couldn’t seem to get enough of his own voice. 

“Now,” Gabriel held a brilliantly red berry no larger than his thumbnail as if inspecting it for blemishes. “We can’t get this show on the road without the main attraction. First things first-you two are doing good. You haven’t made a sound, even with a face full of feathers, but I need to make sure you both understand what's happening here before we get to the fun part.”

The juice ran over his lips as he ate, pale pink, glossy and luscious.

“You’re both just _overflowing_ with all this potential and energy, waiting for someone to drink it up. Which I intend to do, in _every conceivable way_. And by that I mean sex. A lot of it. Once we start, I won’t be stopping for anything.”

Dean shared a look with the woman, his ears nearly as red as the berries the Sunhawk was nibbled on. For all that her eyes were as brown and guileless as the horse’s, the look on her face was wholly as stubborn as a mule. Or a Winchester.

“You can come over here with me, or you can have yourself a nice meal and go home to your families. Your homes won’t suffer much. The crops will probably suck, but so long as Raphael is happy-not that She ever really is-the weather won’t be any worse than usual. No famine, no plague, no wrath of the Gods, just a less than awesome harvest.” 

“Of course, there’s no telling what sort of temper tantrum Big Brother will throw this year, but you won’t have me to worry about.” At that, His smile grew not altogether pleasant. 

“If you think you’re okay with that, come have a seat.” He pat the rich purple and gold fabric under his thighs in invitation.

The silk is already body warm and rough against Dean’s soft skin when he sat, little ridges and lumps worked into the weave like a pattern. The brilliantly dyed cushion just large enough for three sprawling bodies. Gabriel stretches up to meet the woman’s lips in a sweet, chaste kiss as if testing the waters, and for the first time since the ritual began, the God’s expression became something genuine. A warm smile replacing his usual wolfish grin. 

When he does the same to Dean, it’s like lightning on his lips, bright and hot, his skin left tingling and tasting of berries. Gabriel pulled away and Dean already finds himself missing the feeling of soft, honey sweet lips on his own. 

But he’s already busy plucking more food from the little porcelain dish the others had left behind. 

“Peach?” He offered. When neither human moved to accept the fruit, he frowned. 

"No? Well this isn't going to be very fun for anyone if you two don't lighten up. Here-" a water steel dagger no longer than Gabriel's hand appeared quite literally by magic, the rippling pattern in the metal glimmered like the waves it was named for. "Let me." 

His smile was full of mischief as he cut a neat slice from the fruit, the flesh pale white and soft, with a bloody red stone. Using it like a stylus, Gabriel traced the tip over the ruddle lines on the woman’s skin, smearing the honey and leaving a sticky trail behind.

"These are my favorites, you know. Add a bit of honey or raspberry syrup and cream? Best thing since the wheel. See?" Held in the flickering firelight, the bit of peach seemed to gleam like the amber around Dean's neck as the God lolled . 

Dean's moan is bordering on obscene when he proffered fruit. It's liquid sunshine, sweet and bright and perfect as it melts on his tongue, and Gabriel was intent on chasing the flavor. He licked it from his lips and swallowed the little sounds his human couldn't help but make.

"Careful, Kitten, or I'll need to find something to keep you quiet."

A sharp tug to a single long primary feather pulled Gabriel's attention away from the soft, freckled skin spread out before him, reminding him of the other God Touched, waiting with surprising patience and a wry, cheerful expression for her taste of the peach. Oh yes, this was gonna be _awesome_.

**Author's Note:**

> I, ah...I fully intend to give all four feather dusters a chapter or chapters, but can't for the life of me come up with a pairing for Raphael that I like. I'm open to suggestions, Friends.


End file.
